by Debby Mayne
“Yeah, you was wonderin’ why they needed all that scientific information.” I sit up all proud. “And I’m glad I was able to get it for you.”
I see Priscilla glancin’ away all nervouslike, so I turn and catch some middle-aged woman leaning over and gawkin’ at us out of the corner of my eye. When I look directly at her, she snaps back and pretends she’s mindin’ her own business.
“Don’t look now, but I think one of your fans might be in the restaurant.”
Priscilla gives me one of her frustrated looks. “I know. She’s been staring for quite some time.”
The woman’s eyes bulge as she openly stares right at us. I lift a hand and wiggle my fingers in a wave.
She takes that as an invitation to hop right outta her seat and sidle up to our table. Her mouth opens as she looks back and forth between me and Priscilla. “Oh my gosh, I totally can’t believe I’m actually standing here beside Ms. Prissy and Brad Pitt.”
I nearly choke on my iced tea. “Um . . . ”
Priscilla looks like she’s ready to fall off her seat, she’s so amused. “And what’s your name?” she asks the woman, her lips twitching like she wants to crack up.
“My name’s Beth Fay Swanson. oh my, no one’s gonna believe this back home. Can I take your picture?” Without waiting for an answer, she snaps a shot and grins at us. “Ooh, this is good.”
Priscilla pulls one of the empty chairs toward her and pats the seat. “Why don’t you have a seat and let”—she glances at me and winks—“let Brad take our picture.”
The woman’s eyebrows shoot up. “You and me? Is that okay . . . ?” She turns to me. “I mean do you mind?”
I stand up and take the camera she’s thrust toward me. “Naw, I don’t mind at all.”
Right after I snap the picture, she grabs the camera and glares at me. “You’re not Brad Pitt.”
“Never said I was, ma’am.”
“Then who are you?”
Before I have a chance to answer, Priscilla leans forward on her elbows, like she’s gettin’ all chummy with the strange woman and whispers, “His name’s Tim, and he’s a big shot at one of the finest hair product companies in the entire country. But it’s a secret, okay?” She narrows her eyes and leans even closer to the woman. “We don’t want the paparazzi to come after us.”
The woman nods and looks all serious as she straightens up and backs away. “Paparazzi? Oh . . . ” She scurries back to her table, lookin’ for all the world like she’s ready to jump outta her skin.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn to Priscilla. “You’re good.”
She curls her fingers toward herself, blows on them, and rubs them on her collar. “Don’t I know it?”
“Don’t look now, but our new friend is shootin’ loads of pictures of us . . . one after another.”
“I don’t think we can stop her.” She shrugs. “But what does it matter anyway? A few pictures from a fan can’t hurt, can they?”
The rest of the night we chat about this and that, from her next trip to New York to what I’ll do with my territory if I wind up takin’ the job. As we speak, I see why Priscilla has been so successful. She has a way of analyzin’ the whats, whys, and wherefores of what makes things work, givin’ me another thing to admire about her.
After supper, I walk her back to her hotel. There’s lots of folks out takin’ advantage of the nice weather and all the stuff there is to do in Times Square. We stand and talk outside her hotel before she looks down at her watch.
“I had a wonderful time, Tim, but I need to go get some sleep.”
I nod. “Yep. Tomorrow comes mighty early.”
After she goes inside, I stand and look around at what just might wind up bein’ my hometown soon. It sure is a far cry from any place I ever lived in Mississippi. A cab pulls up to the curb in front of me.
I lift a finger, and when he nods, I hop inside, and we take off. As we head toward the Staten Island Ferry, a queasy feelin’ comes over me. I love visitin’ the big city and hangin’ out with Uncle Hugh and Aunt Tammy, but the thought of livin’ here? That’s a whole ’nother story.
The next mornin’ I have a cup of coffee with Aunt Tammy and head on over to the office to spend a little more time with Uncle Hugh before going back to Mississippi. When I arrive, he surprises me with a slap on the back and the biggest cake-eatin’ grin I ever seen.
“Tim, my boy, you’re a natural for this job.”
“Wha—?”
That’s when I notice he’s shakin’ a newspaper in my face. There on the cover is a picture of me and Priscilla sittin’ at the restaurant, lookin’ like we was in love . . . or something.
“Where did that come from?”
“One of the assistants brought it in. You sure do know how to make a splash when you come to town. Do you realize that this one little picture is responsible for our phones ringing off the hook?” He points to the eight-line phone that’s all lit up. “Just look at what you’ve created.”
“All ’cause of that one little picture? How can that be? Some girl spotted Priscilla last night, but she thought I was Brad Pitt.”
He belts out a deep belly laugh. “Yeah, I know. I just read all about it. Apparently, she went straight to the tabloid and told them all about her celebrity spotting.”
I rub the back of my neck and try to figure out if this is a good thing. From the way Uncle Hugh is actin’, I would say it is. But I’m not used to havin’ my mug broadcast all over the place.
“The Ms. Prissy Big Hair phenomenon is taking over the US Canada, and Great Britain.” He sits down and gestures toward the chair on the other side of his desk. “Now that people know she was having a . . . business dinner with Tim, the big shot at one of the finest hair product companies, we’re on the international map.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Priscilla planted an idea in that woman’s head, but I had no idea this kinda thing would happen.
“So you gotta take me up on my offer, but after this, I’m thinking I might need to stick around just a little while longer to help you deal with the business exploding so fast.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That would probably be a very good idea.” I’m sorta numb, so I’m not sure what all I’m sayin’ or implyin’.
One of Uncle Hugh’s assistants appears at the door. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Puckett, but there’s a woman from ABC on line three.”
8
Priscilla
I’m finally back in Jackson, after a very long trip from New York, with flight attendants giving me strange looks and fellow passengers snickering. After being on TVNS for a while, I’m used to double takes, but this is different. It’s almost as though people know some deep dark secret about me.
As I make my way to baggage claim, I turn on my cell phone and see that I have half a dozen messages—all from Tim. Uh-oh.
I punch Call Back from his message, and he answers right away. “Honestly, Priscilla, I had nothing to do with that article.”
“What article?”
“You haven’t seen it?”
“No, I haven’t. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
He makes a whistling sound as he exhales between his teeth that are obviously clenched from whatever is bothering him. “There’s an article . . . in Famous People News . . . ”
“C’mon, Tim. What’s going on?” Some woman walks past me snickering, giving me a thumbs-up. The man beside her tugs her away from me, but right behind her is another woman gawking and shaking her head. “People have been acting really strange today.”
“Want me to read it to you?”
“I’m not sure.” I’ve reached the baggage carousel, and I see my luggage coming toward me. “Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Sure, but don’t talk to anyone before you do.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Whatever that newspaper printed, Tim, just remember that most people don’t believe a word of it.”
“Call me back as soon as y
ou can.”
After I disconnect the call, I drop the phone into my handbag, walk up to the carousel, and tug the suitcase off the belt. Some man comes toward me looking like he wants to help, but the woman beside him yanks his arm, and he comes to an abrupt halt.
I didn’t want to leave my car in long-term parking, so I have to get a cab to take me home. Once I’m settled in the backseat, I punch in Tim’s number again, and he answers immediately.
“Can you talk now?”
“Yes.” I smooth my skirt and take a deep breath. “So what’s got you all worked up.”
“Apparently, we’re involved in a steamy relationship that started when my company supplied you with the magical product that pulled your struggling business from the gutter.”
“What?” Tim is such a jokester, but this isn’t funny—not when it comes to my business that I’ve worked so hard to build over so many years.
“Famous People News had that and so much more to say about me ’n you.”
I see the cab driver looking at me in the rearview mirror, so I scoot as close to the window as the seatbelt will allow, getting out of his line of vision. “That explains a lot of what’s been happening today.” I tell him all about people’s reactions to me at the airport and on the plane.
“I hope you know I had nothing to do with it,” Tim says.
“Of course, I know that. So are you upset?”
He chuckles. “I haven’t had time to get upset. Ever since that article appeared, orders have poured in, and I’m juggling the supplier, sales reps, and . . . ”
“And what, Tim?”
“ABC called. They want to do a piece on Good Morning America.” He pauses to catch a breath. “And I just got off the phone with someone from CBS. They’re interested in something for Entertainment Tonight.”
My throat constricts. “Oh my.”
“You can say that again. Priscilla, I’ve had to deal with all kinds of crazy stuff, but this takes the cake. I never seen this one coming.”
“Same here.”
“But you’ve always known you wanted to be a celebrity. That’s never been something I’ve even thought of for myself.”
I bristle. “Tim, that’s not true. I’ve never thought about becoming a celebrity.”
“Um, Priscilla, for as long as I can remember, you’ve talked about bein’ on TVNS.”
“Not for the celebrity status. I just wanted to get my products into the hands of as many women as possible, and that seemed the best way to do it.”
“C’mon, Priscilla, you’re a smart woman. When you appear on TV, you become a celebrity. That’s the way it works.”
Are Tim and I arguing? I don’t like the way this feels in the pit of my stomach. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. Why don’t we think about this and talk about it later? The whole thing has caught me by surprise, so I might say something I don’t mean.”
“Yeah, and I suggest picking up one of the papers so you can see it for yourself.”
After we end our call, I instruct the driver to make a stop at a grocery store. He waits as I run inside, grab a copy of Famous People News, and pay for it. Rather than risk his smirks, I drop the paper into my tote before I get back into the cab.
My cell phone rings again, so I pull it out and look at the name. Mother. No doubt someone has told her, or will tell her, about the article since I can’t imagine her seeing it for herself. I decide to let the call go to voice mail and call Mother back later when I’m in the privacy of my townhouse . . . after I have a chance to read and dissect the article.
The image of Mother finding out I’m the subject of celebrity news makes me smile at the irony. She’s above reading the gossip rags that I used to peruse while standing in line in the grocery store. I remember her swatting at my hand when I reached for one when I was in middle school. “That’s just trash,” she said. “And we’re not trashy people.”
Well, apparently that’s changed with my success. And now that I think about it, whose place is it to call someone else trashy? I’m sure Mother hasn’t thought this all the way through because she’s a big believer in helping the downtrodden, even though she’s way too caught up in her own intellectualism to get too close to anyone beneath her status. From a very early age she taught me how to use long words when shorter ones would have been perfectly suitable. Now I have to stop and think before speaking to keep from sounding like an intellectual snob. I also have to concentrate hard on not correcting people when they use bad grammar, which is quite a challenge when I’m with Tim. He tries harder than anyone I know, but his country talk is imbedded in his roots. Most of the time I find that quite charming, and I certainly don’t want to change him, even though he seems to constantly struggle with trying to impress me.
“Here ya go, Ms. Slater,” the cab driver says as he takes the fare I hand him. “Need change?” The fact that he used my name sends shivers down my spine. I pray he doesn’t get greedy and sell my address to the tabloids.
“No thanks, but there is one thing I would like.”
He grins. “What’s that?”
I hand him an extra twenty. “Can you keep my identity and address—”
A horrified look washes over his face as he takes the money. “I’m a professional, Ms. Slater. I would never stoop so low as to divulge anything about one of my clients.” He pulls out a business card. “You will call me next time you need a ride, won’t you?”
That’s the least I can do. “Yes, of course.”
“Don’t you worry about me saying anything to anyone.” He runs his fingers over his closed lips.
“Thanks.”
I pull my suitcase inside and take my time putting everything away. Then I fix a pot of coffee and sit down to read the article. It’s really not that bad. They got a few facts wrong, but it doesn’t make me look like a bad person, which was what I had feared.
Now I need to call Mother. I take a few deep breaths and press her number on speed dial. She answers with a lecture.
“How many times have I told you to stay away from those magazines, Priscilla? Doesn’t anything I say get through to you? First you flunk out of college—”
“I didn’t flunk out, Mother. I quit college, remember?”
“Okay, but what do you think you’re doing, getting your name plastered all over the scandal rags?”
“My name isn’t plastered all over them. It happened one time, and it was an innocent article. Have you even read it?” The mental image of Mother sitting down reading one of those magazines makes me smile.
“Of course I did. My daughter’s in there. And I thought you and Tim were just good friends. When did that change, and why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“You didn’t actually believe what you read, did you?”
“The picture can’t lie. I know what I saw. The way you two were looking at each other is pretty telling.”
I spend the next fifteen minutes explaining what actually happened and defending myself. “I promise that if I ever fall in love, I’ll tell you about it before I tell some reporter I don’t even know.”
“That would be nice.”
“I better go now. I have to get up early.”
“One more thing, Priscilla. I’m not saying I like seeing your picture in that . . . magazine, and I’m not trying to tell you how to run your life, but you and Tim . . . well, y’all do make a nice-looking couple.”
I refuse to participate in this conversation any longer, now that she’s taken it to a different place. “Bye, Mother. I love you.”
“Okay, I can take a hint. Love you too.”
“See you in a few weeks?”
“Don’t forget, you need to give me an exact date as soon as you know.”
“I’ll call soon.”
9
Laura
Did you hear about Priscilla?”
I’m standin’ in the Piggly Wiggly with my second-to-youngest child, wishin’ the woman in front of me didn’t have so many coupons. I’ve tri
ed couponing, but I can’t seem to get everything organized, even in those little pouchy things, and cashiers get annoyed when half the coupons I hand ’em have expired.
Bonnie Sue is thumbin’ through one of the magazines, poppin’ her gum like she always does when she goes shoppin’ with me. I woulda left her at home, but Renee’s there with her boyfriend, and Bonnie Sue can’t seem to keep her smart-aleck comments to herself, which gets Renee all hoppin’ mad, and they wind up fightin’ like a coupla yard dogs.
“What about Priscilla?”
“Look at this.” She shoves the magazine in front of my nose, and I have to lean back to see what she’s pointin’ to.
“Is that . . . ?” I squint my eyes and read the caption beneath the picture. “Why that’s Priscilla Slater and Tim.”
“Can you buy me this magazine, Mama? Please?”
Rather than start an argument I know I’ll never win, I make a quick decision. “Sure, and grab me a copy while you’re at it.”
Bonnie Sue’s chin drops, exposing a wad of over-chewed gum and her slightly crooked teeth from not wearing her retainer like the orthodontist instructed. I start to comment but think better of it since she’s recovered and is doing what I told her to, a rare thing these days.
Actually, Bonnie Sue has turned out to be a decent kid if you don’t count her snot-face comments just because she’s a cheerleader and popular with the boys. Renee is the one I’m most worried about now. For years she managed to fly under the radar as the second oldest of my young’uns and older of the two girls, but lately, ever since she started seein’ this boy Wilson, she’s different. Pete doesn’t like the boy—says he’s nothin’ but trouble, but I remind him that people said the same thing about him when he was that age. My issue is with Renee, who used to be opinionated as all get out but now can’t seem to make a decision before consulting Wilson. And that boy has some mighty strong opinions.
Bonnie Sue actually helps me put the groceries in the back of the minivan that I’m tryin’ to talk Pete into lettin’ me trade in for an SUV. After we get the bags situated, we get into the front seat at the same time. Bonnie Sue is still hangin’ on to her copy of Famous People News.
